Mistaken
by Jillian Aerist
Summary: "Violence is all she knows. Which is fine with her, because she's good at being violent." Musing on what it's like to grow up in District 2. One-shot, for now.


**A/N: **My thanks to_ Musafreen_ for her meticulous beta work.

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><p>Violence is all she knows. Which is fine with her, because she's <em>good<em> at being violent. Contrary to popular belief.

The other kids at school think she's a weakling, because blood makes her gag. She'll start making faces even at the mention of people getting cut up, and she's talking _scrape on the knees_, not even actual maiming. But when she's in a fight, that all changes. Universal Deity of Whatever help the person who pisses off_ Clove Ensis_.

It's not that she enjoys causing pain, exactly; she does have a heart. It's more that she also has hubris—bucketloads and basketfuls of it. And Clove being Clove, you do not insult her with impunity on her_ best_ days.

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><p>Her brother Cato is the first to learn this lesson.<p>

"Hey, pipsqueak!"

Clove grits her teeth. "_Don't call me that_."

Most people do not get that Clove and Cato are siblings, and perhaps it's justified. Their similarities are so miniscule you wouldn't notice them if you weren't looking—the arch of their eyebrows, their thin mouths, the shape of their ears; their explosive tempers, fierce strength, and their willingness to kill anything that moves, whether that's a wild coyote, an enemy, or one another.

The children of District 2 are raised not to hold anything back. And Clove doesn't.

"What are you gonna do about it, _short-stack_?"

Clove knows she's short; she understands she's compact and small, and that's fine. She can use that to her advantage, too. Cato is huge and hulking, taller even than their father, but the way Clove sees it, that's only an advantage when he's got her in a headlock or she can't reach the pickle jar.

"I said, _what_—_are_—_you_—_gonna_—_do_—_about it_?" he repeats, like her small body justifies the belief that her brain is small too.

Her answer is the steak knife she's just picked up off the counter. Cato laughs, and easily removes one of the decorative swords that hangs on the wall—this is, after all, District 2, and there is no such thing as a weapon that's purely decorative here—and the two of them fight it out, because one day they're going to the Hunger Games, and there's no better way to learn to fight for your life than by holding onto your own arrogance and refusing to talk things out. When you don't speak with words, your body speaks for you, building up adrenaline and releasing it in the spurts of violence that hold all your anger.

This is the way the Ensis siblings solve their problems; not with "coping skills", like lesser humans, but with training. Because that's all it is, right?

These small battles now are preparation for the real thing. For the_ ultimate_ battle of the Hunger Games. Being a victor is every child's dream; every child's life goal; but when both your parents are victors, winning a Games for yourself is not only_ expected_, it's an absolute requirement if you want anyone to take you seriously.

No one listens to "common sense" in District 2, and even if they did, there's no one here to give it. District 2 citizens are neither speech-makers nor particularly excellent listeners of speeches; if you want to argue your point, best to be prepared for an intense sparring match over the issue. It's the way of life.

So Clove dices her brother like a carrot, and he slashes away at her with equal verve, and though she cannot altogether avoid being within range of his sword, she steers clear of those strong hands, which she knows would drop his weapon and strangle her at a moment's notice if she got too near.

Their mother enters the room and pours herself a glass of water, barely noticing her children as they beat and cut each other until they're dropping with exhaustion. She does not interfere until Clove moves to inflict permanent damage upon her brother's internal organs. She gets in a good scrape to his stomach—that cut will definitely leave scarring later—but before this gets any more serious, her mother blocks the blade with her bare hand. It draws blood, and it must hurt like mad; but Clove knows her mother is not a woman who shows pain even when she feels it. She survived her Games by being as cold as stone, as she has taught Clove.

The only expression on either woman's face now is determination.

"Clove, that is enough."

The battle is drawn to a close with Cato declared victor (according to parental verdict, at least). But Clove knows her point has been made.

"I am _not_ the weakling you mistook me for," are her words as she makes her exit through the kitchen doorway.

She is bruised and bleeding and _exhausted_ without her adrenaline to keep her mobile. She knows her parents will be taking them to see a doctor, because they are the Ensis children, the children of victors, and they can afford luxuries like half-maiming each other over petty arguments.

She smiles to herself, a bit. She thinks she's grown stronger, now that she can last a fight with Cato; with enough luck on her side, maybe even win. But she's only fourteen, and she hasn't lived half as long as it would take to realize that hubris gets in her way more than it helps her.


End file.
